


What matters

by Anuna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, Introspection, One Shot, au - dancers, prequel fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 02:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4728986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One year ago Kara has suffered an accident which left a visible and large scar on her face. Despite her dancing abilities being intact, her partner of five years has left her, commenting that nobody would let her win with "that face". </p><p>It took some time, and few surgeries, but now Kara has recovered just enough to feel brave enough to risk looking for a new dancing partner. And she found out there was another outcast in town. </p><p>Prequel for a larger AU to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What matters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaptainSummerDay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainSummerDay/gifts).



> Yes, this means that I will finally sit on my bum and write that dancing AU I have been planning since Clintasha fandom. 
> 
> I wrote this pretty quickly for CaptainSummerDay who always has patience for my ranting and raving. I hope you like it babe! I might write more short fics focused on the before - the - main - fic period.

Kara told herself she was up to this. She drove according to directions she got off internet, observing how the neighborhood she was driving through became more unappealing by the minute. Good place to hide, she thought, but that was what Bobbi told her anyway. Kara agreed. She was good at hiding herself. Not looking at her own reflection in the mirror didn't even require effort at this point.

 

The dancing school was right next to the police station, sharing the same building. That felt somehow ironic. Kara parked her car next to an old looking vehicle, stepped out ignoring the light rain and pulled her trench coat tighter around herself. Then she took of her shades and tossed them onto the passenger seat. If that guy was going to accept her offer he might as well _see_ what he was getting himself into.

 

Kara climbed the stairs and struggled with the heavy and uncooperative door for a little while. When she got inside and got past another door – which was way more cooperative – she noticed that the space felt much more comfortable than the outside of the building. It was warm, warm enough to practice in light clothing that didn't restrict movement.

 

And according to her expectations she entered a room with hardboard floor and mirrors on the wall. It looked neat and simple, with half dozen of couples waltzing around their teacher – or rather trying to waltz.

 

Kara bit her lip. She hated learning turns in waltz. Turns were the worst. The person teaching the class was as tall and surly looking as Bobbi described him, his counting to the rhythm was merciless and his students as clumsy and adorable as any group of beginners would be. The song she didn't know – heck she didn't even recognize the language the song was in, but maybe that helped students focusing on the rhythm instead of singing along to a popular song.

 

Kara remained at the back of the room until the lesson was done. The longer she spent in there her excitement grew. She tried not to think about the possibility of her plan not working out – if it didn't, she would be out of options. For the time being. That could mean anything from couple of months to indefinitely, but even if that happened she didn't have to give up on dance. Maybe she could open her own dancing school. Maybe a big facial scar wouldn't represent a problem to couples who wanted a speedy dance course two weeks before their wedding.

 

Finally when the music stopped and the class ended, she noticed how half the people lingered. The surly attitude of their teacher changed as he explained technique and movements and repeated over and over how practice was necessary. It seemed that everyone left the class with the feeling of contentment. Kara told herself it was her time to step forward – and if the tall man dressed in loose joggers and dancing shoes noticed her, he didn't say anything.

 

“Hey,” she couldn't help feeling slightly awkward. “I don't wanna disturb you -”

 

“The applications for the new class start in two weeks,” he said, not even turning around.

 

A part of her wanted to leave. Having people look at her face – despite three surgeries and her considerable skills in applying make up – was hard enough. Inviting them to look when they seemingly didn't want to was nothing short of terrifying. She swallowed, straightened her stance just like she did one moment before stepping out onto the dancefloor and cleared her throat.

 

“I'm not here for the dance lessons,” she said. He didn't move so Kara pressed on. “I'm a friend of Bobbi's. Bobbi. Morse.”

 

He straightened from looking over whatever paperwork he was busying himself with. Even though he tried to look like he wasn't tense, Kara was willing to bet that he was.

 

“And what does Bobbi Morse want of me?”

 

He still didn't turn around.

 

“Nothing, actually. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

 

Then he did turn around. And to his credit there was no overt reaction to the sight of her face without any make up. Nothing except a brief expression that was over before it even formed on his face. Something like connecting the dots. _Something_.

 

“Who are you?” he asked.

 

“Kara Palamas,” she said, offering her hand. “And I'm a dancer.”

 

He was even taller up close, and his face, despite being the nice kind of manly, looked blank. Kara's courage was dwindling, but she was nothing if not stubborn. She wouls see this conversation through to an end.

 

“I don't need other employees,” he said.

 

“I'm not looking for a job,” Kara said. He was acting just like Bobbi said he would be. “I'm here to offer you one.”

 

“Well, I already have a job.”

 

“You're not dancing, though,” Kara said.

 

The man gave her an incredulous look. “Yeah, that's right. I don't.”

 

“But you could,” she said. “With me. I... don't have a partner since... since last year.”

 

There was a pause and his unapproachable expression changed a little bit, or that was at least what Kara thought. (She _hoped_.) The thing was, their world was small, and if he stayed in touch with the dancing community (and he probably did, he did lead a dancing school) then he heard about what happened to her.

 

And by “what happened to her” she didn't mean the accident. Anyone could have an accident. She meant what _followed_. The judges didn't care what anyone's face looked like if they could dance – nobody did, except the guy she danced with for five years. And the worst thing was, she found out everything after she was finally out of the hospital and sufficiently recovered to start practicing again. (“I thought it was worse, Kara” “Didn't you know he and his new partner are winning?” “He said you were disabled”) It took less than twenty four hours to feel completely and utterly alone.

 

The man in front of her fixed her with a stare. Kara didn't feel comfortable, but she remained where she was.

 

There was something about this man. He didn't introduce himself, but Bobbi told her his name was Grant and she showed her the footage from several years before and told her all about him. And then someone tipped the press about his past and illegal fights and rumors about him doing drugs. And how his career was marred to the point of him packing up his bags and leaving LA for New York and hiding in low profile dance schools ever since. So that man looked at Kara, not unkindly and his stance relaxed, and she felt it was easier to keep standing at her spot.

 

"Do you feel desperate?" he asked. Kara thought it was an odd question to ask a stranger.

 

Maybe she should have felt offended.

 

Instead she felt relief.

 

And then she felt something else.

 

She felt courageous for the first time in a long time.

 

"Yes," she said. "Yes I do."

 

He sighed, smirked and offered his hand. (By that point Kara had withheld hers).

 

"I'm Grant," he said.

 

"I know."

 

"I'm also pretty tall,” he pointed out the obvious. 

 

"Not gonna be a problem. I always had tall partners."

 

"Do you always recruit complete strangers like this?" Grant asked.

 

"Not really," Kara said, mustering a smirk of her own. "But if you show me what you can do I'll know a great deal more about what matters."

 

 


End file.
